


Pride and Joy

by butterflyslinky



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hobbitcon Fanbook Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The line between temper and fatherhood is very thin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride and Joy

**Author's Note:**

> My first story for the Hobbitcon Fanbook project. The prompt was "Gloin, Grumpiness vs. Fatherhood."

From the moment Oin had dropped the baby on his head (and quickly scooped him back up again, and wasn’t that lucky), Gloin had known that his entire purpose in life had been redefined.

Before, it had all been the forges, the occasional battle, his accounting books, his wife in the evenings when they had both finished their work for the day. But now…now, there was a tiny, squalling, demanding _person_ to look after, and wasn’t that just the most ridiculous thing in the world. Gloin, a father? What nonsense was that? He wasn’t the fatherly type, not at all. He was too coarse, too grumpy, too stubborn.

But this was his child, his son. Gimli, son of Gloin, as good and strong a dwarf as there would ever be. He could do this. He could raise this child well. He could have something to be proud of.

*

As it turned out, Gimli was just as coarse and grumpy and stubborn as his father.

Which suited them both well to a point, since they never had to pretend to be happy with each other, polite lies and half-smiles like others wore. Gloin’s wife lamented that they were both so grouchy, but she could hardly complain when they spent their evenings quietly by the fire, Gloin with his pipe and Gimli with his practice axe, not speaking except when Gloin would give pointers or Gimli would shout battle cries.

But it was only to a point, as their personalities were so close that they often clashed. Coarseness became outright hostility, grumpiness became anger, and stubbornness often faded into the two not speaking for days, even weeks on end, until Gloin’s wife slapped them both around the ears and made them apologize to each other.

It did not make for a very happy household sometimes. But no matter what happened, no matter how angry Gimli could make him, Gloin never gave up. He would be a good father, and he would raise Gimli to be the best warrior, the best smith, the best of everything. His pride would not allow him to simply turn Gimli over to his mother and let her do all the parenting.

And it was all worth it for those rare moments when Gimli would smile at him, or hug him, or even, very rarely, whisper a quick “Love you, Adad,” before running off to his lessons.

*

Anger didn’t even begin to cover what Gloin felt.

“No,” he said, his voice a dangerously low growl. “You are not coming with us.”

Gimli’s jaw is set in that way he has before every fight. “Fili and Kili and Ori are going and they’re not much older,” he whined. “I have an axe, Adad. Why should I not fight for my people and our homeland?”

“Because you are too young,” Gloin said. “I do not control what Dis or Dori do with their children, but you are staying here, where you’re safe. Your axe is not yet meant to see battle.”

Gimli looked like he wanted to cry, but as always, he stopped himself by shouting. “I deserve it as much as they do! As much as you do! I have every right to go on this quest!”

“You will do as you’re told,” Gloin snapped. “I will not have you hurt or killed on this venture!”

“So why are you going?” Gimli asked. “Why would you risk your life and not allow me to come and help?”

“I cannot be looking after a young dwarf the whole way,” Gloin answered. “It will be perilous enough without having to worry about you as well.”

“Then don’t worry about me!” Gimli cried. “I can look after myself! I have trained and practiced as well as Fili and Kili and Mister Dwalin says I will make a great warrior!”

“Aye, that you will,” Gloin said, his eyes softening. “But you are not a great warrior yet. You still have room to grow, and I will not have you throw away your potential now.”

Gimli clenched his jaw and turned away. Gloin watched him go, heard the door slam down the hall. He approached the door cautiously and heard the sobbing on the other side.

He did not attempt to speak to Gimli again until the night before he left, when his wife gave him the most withering glare of her entire life. Only then did Gloin go and knock on his son’s door.

“Gimli,” he said. “Please speak to me.”

There were several long minutes before the door opened. Gimli glowered at his father. “I do not wish to be left behind,” he said.

“I do not wish to lose you,” Gloin countered. “Please understand. I do not refuse you out of doubt for your skills. I refuse because I love you, and I do not wish to see you die under a dragon’s fire.”

Gimli looked down. “I know,” he said. “Just as I do not wish to wait here, not knowing if you’ll come back.”

“You must,” Gloin said. “I know it is hard, but you must. Look after your mother, and keep our forge hot. And when the mountain is retaken, I will send for you. I promise.”

Gimli nodded and embraced his father. “I love you, Adad,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Gimli,” Gloin whispered back.

*

The mountain was reclaimed, the treasure given out as promised, but it did not feel like victory. Too many lives lost, too many good dwarves wounded, too many hearts broken.

But Gloin could be happy, because his wife and son had joined him at the mountain, and everything was as promised. They would have a better life here, better opportunities. Gimli would grow up to be a great warrior and not have to wander and starve as his forefathers had. Yes, it was all good.

For years, it was all good. They built a happy home there. Yes, there were still fights, still arguments that shook the foundations, still weeks when Gloin and Gimli wouldn’t speak to each other, but that was normal. Expected, even. Nothing to be ashamed of.

And then, the elves called them to Rivendell, and Dain declared that Gloin and Gimli would both go as part of the delegation.

A ring. A dark lord. The end of the world. And another mad adventure that would be twice as dangerous and even more urgent that the last one.

Gloin wished he could go himself, that he could take the ring into Mordor and save his family again. But he couldn’t. He was too old now, and this was not his task.

Gimli was young. Gimli was strong. Gimli had grown into one of the best fighters in Erebor, and he would do well on this quest. Gloin had taken Bilbo to Erebor—let his son guide Bilbo’s nephew to Mordor.

“I wish I could go with you,” Gloin said the night before his son was to depart.

“But you cannot,” Gimli said. “Do not try to argue this one, Adad—it’s my turn to have an adventure.”

Gloin laughed. “Here,” he said. He picked up his axe and placed it in his son’s hands. “Your axe is still not meant for battle—take one that is more experienced to guide you.”

Gimli looked up, and this time he did not try to hide the tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. He put the axe with the rest of his pack and embraced his father. “I love you, Adad.”

“I love you, too,” Gloin whispered.

*

Two years of waiting. Two years of prayers to the Maker. Two years of battles by the gates, of his wife’s anxious pacing, of not knowing whether his son was alive or dead. Even when the world shook and the forces of Mordor fled, Gloin could not know if Gimli had survived.

And then one day, finally, there was a call from the gate and a messenger came running into Gloin’s hall, saying that Gimli was back and the gates were opening.

Gloin and his wife hurried to the gate, and there he was, leaner than before, but stronger as well, a packhorse on one side and an elf on the other, but Gloin didn’t care, barely even noticed as he rushed to embrace his son.

They stayed there for many long minutes, neither one speaking a word. Tomorrow, they would be coarse, and grumpy, and stubborn, but for now, all they needed to be was family.


End file.
